Our books would be the end of us

I’m adding a poetry page to the site, rather against my better judgment. As I explained a while ago, I wrote a hell of a lot of poems in college, and they represent a part of my writing life that seems to be pretty much over. Interestingly, I’ve noticed that even though social media are very much about the present (I was chagrined to realize that my #TheOneWayRain hashtag only pulls up posts from the past week), that present is elongated; one way to self-promote, for example, is tweet the same blog entries over and over, at varying intervals. So I feel that my old poems may as well move in here, as they’re not going anywhere else.

Anyway, this is a poem I wrote while working at Yale’s Beinecke Library. If I am ever tempted to question my race and class privilege, I have only to think back on the fact that I had a summer job inside the closed stacks of one of the world’s most extraordinary rare-book libraries, from which I was later fired when I stopped showing up.

Small Prayer in Beinecke

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